The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series (23 page)

He would win her trust and turn her fear and hatred of their physical union into the mutual desire that God in His wisdom had intended. It would take time and patience—he did not delude himself—but he would succeed. He was a man who had no history of losing.

Cathryn awakened slowly, reluctantly. He knew she was awake long before she first opened her eyes. William had the sense that this was her normal way, that wakefulness did not come swiftly to her.

William had been watching her while she slept, she was sure of it, and the knowledge made her stomach roll uneasily. Asleep, she was her most vulnerable. Had she spoken? She was sometimes known to speak out loud as she slept most deeply. Had her mouth been agape? Ah, there was a pretty thought. Such was the price one paid when sleeping in someone else's bed.

With a quick and uncomfortable smile, she hurried from the bed, the floor cold upon her bare feet. Her shift slid down to cover her to the knee as she searched for her lost bliaut. She found it upon the floor before the dead fire and remembered in a rush the events of the previous night as she'd sat upon her husband's lap enjoying more than the heat of the blaze.

"Good morrow, Cathryn," William said with cheer, seeming to ignore the haste with which his wife had left his bed.

"Good morrow," she mumbled, stepping into the dusty bliaut that had seen much hard duty the day before.

"You are eager to be at your morning prayers, I see," he commented, not moving from the warmth of the bed.

She turned from him, pretending in her heart that he was not in the room as she struggled with her laces.

"Cathryn?" he prompted.

"Yea, I am eager to be about the tasks of the day."

"'Tis early."

"'Tis past the dawning!"

He did not argue with her, but watched, his back against the wood, as she tugged at her strings, or those she could reach.

"You have another gown?" he finally asked.

"Yea," she said with a huff.

"And where is it?"

Le Brouillard was talkative today and it pleased her not.

Turning to him, she answered, "In my chamber."

"This
is your chamber, wife," he answered, his voice both pleasant and firm. "Have your possessions moved."

And when she did not answer and only turned to face him in silent mutiny, he added, "Today."

William spent no more time on that matter, having settled it to his satisfaction. He rose from the bed, as naked as the day his mother presented him to the world. Cathryn spun around as wildly as any top and gave him her back again.

He was glorious.

She could not survive glorious.

In her turning, William had caught a flying skein of her hair and now gave it a gentle tug.

"Do I shame you?" he asked, his voice as light as a sparrow on the wing. "I am as God made me."

She knew that well, and it was a burning draft to admit that she liked what God had wrought that day—and liked it well. He was magnificent, with his silver eyes and shining hair. His nose, so straight, pointed a direct line to lips both firm and finely molded. Black brows sweeping as gracefully as swans, sheltered the beauty of those glinting gray eyes.

Muscular arms, broad shoulders, narrow hips—he was beautiful in his masculinity.

"I like greatly the way in which God fashioned your parts on the day
you
were conceived," he said, giving her hair another tug. And when she would not answer, he cajoled, "Are you so little pleased?"

Cathryn knew enough of William to know that there was true uncertainty in his mind. Oddly, the knowledge gave her a tickle of pleasure.

Turning slightly, she smiled. "Is this another point on which rests Frankish pride?"

William shrugged casually and smiled back. "We are known to be a handsome race."

Cathryn faced him fully, her eyes shining as she used her fingers to tick off her points. "Let us review the traits of Frankish men: fractious, warlike, lovers of women, and lovers of self. I note humility is absent."

"To every great people a fatal flaw is given, else we would think ourselves equal to God. And with my race, lack of humility in the face of such superior attributes is surely understandable." William crossed his arms across his massive chest and smiled in victory. "God has given us a flaw, which I find most logical."

"You think to know the mind of God?" she asked on a gasp.

"Nay." He shook his head as he unfolded his arms. "I would but know your mind. Does my form please you so little?" he asked again, his voice more serious than he had intended.

Cathryn turned from him and gave him a splendid view of her back before answering, "I am not little pleased."

Because her back was turned, she could not see the scowl that crossed his features at her ambiguous reply. Did she truly find him disagreeable? If so, she was the first, but the English were not like other nations; it was something the whole world knew. Yet could her words, so carefully imprecise, not also mean that she
was
pleased, and not a little? It could be so. And then he smiled, for clearly Cathryn felt free to tease him, and a woman frozen with fear would not.

The sounds of the morning drifted up to them: the call of Kendall to his squire, the ring of hammer on iron, Ulrich pounding up the stair.

William threw his mantle over his nakedness, easing Cathryn's discomfort; it was assuredly not for Ulrich, who had seen him naked countless times. He had just done so when Ulrich rushed into the room, talking as he entered.

"'Tis a fine day for hawking, William—oh, good morrow, Lady Cathryn—as there is no sun to blind us, and I thought that we could go and return with a fine catch to present to the people of Greneforde. My lord?"

William paid Ulrich scant attention. He watched as Cathryn hurried past him, using the unbound length of her hair to disguise the fact that her gown was unfastened, and the chatter of his squire to hide her escape. When she was at the portal, he simply said, "Today."

She paused but briefly and nodded, hardly an acknowledgment.

"Cathryn."

This time she stopped completely, but still she did not turn.

"There is something else that will be done today. Baths for one and all. Today, wife," he ordered to the back of her head.

And now she turned to give him a clear view of her profile. He could see that she was smiling, and then she nodded and was gone, but not before she heard Ulrich whine, "But William, I bathed but a week ago!"

Chapter 12

When William entered the great hall, Rowland was awaiting him at the hearth, a mug of ale in his hands. He handed William the ale.

"When do you hunt Lambert?" he asked softly.

It was a question entirely expected. Lambert and the meting out of his punishment had been prowling the corners of his thoughts since he first learned of the man's existence and his relationship to his wife.

"I know not," William answered just as softly. "Cathryn could better answer you, for I will not leave Greneforde until the scars on her soul are healed. She takes precedence over my revenge." William indulged in a healthy swallow of ale before continuing: "I will have justice, though it may come more slowly than I would choose."

Gray eyes met darkest brown in mutual understanding and agreement. William and Rowland were ever of the same mind.

"'Tis a wise course you follow, William, and mayhap Lambert will find his judgment more bitter for believing he has escaped it."

They studied the fire in silence, each plotting the various ways Lambert could be repaid for his villainy.

"There is something I would have you do for me," William began.

"Name it," Rowland vowed, his hand going to his sword hilt.

"Track Lambert so that I may know where to find him when I am ready."

"Done."

"Mayhap you should take Kendall with you and travel to the king, for I would inform him that the marriage he blessed has occurred and Greneforde is mine. Have a care," William added, his hand upon Rowland's arm. "Be circumspect in your actions. I would not have Lambert aware that we know of him. He could well be lingering in the area, plotting some means by which he can regain Greneforde."

But William no longer looked at Rowland; his eyes were upon Cathryn, who had entered the hall and was engaged in quiet conversation with John.

"I would not be quick to abandon such a prize," William finished.

"Your will and mine are one, William. Kendall and I will leave at next dawning."

They left the hall then, to wander where there were fewer ears to hear their plans. They left the hall to Cathryn and John.

* * *

"The water is on the boil, lady, though some of our people have already bathed."

For a moment she was shocked speechless. It was not what she'd expected to hear. A way out of this latest and so familiar command was what she had been seeking of John, not compliance.

John saw her shock and understood it, but he understood something else as well, and this he voiced to his lady.

"William is not Lambert."

"Obviously he is not," she blurted. "Yet what—"

"Marie is moving your belongings to the lord's chamber even now," John interrupted to add.

It was not welcome news.

"John," Cathryn accused, her eyes large in her delicate face, "you have turned your loyalty to the other side."

"Lady—" he smiled gently, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners—"'tis not possible. You and William are married. Your sides are the same."

And he left her standing in a corner of the hall, quite bemused.

But only for a time. With renewed resolve, Cathryn made her way to her old chamber, the one she had shared with her brother. After her father had left on pilgrimage, she had taken the lord's chamber as her own. It was a logical choice and one expected of her. But with the coming of Lambert she had retreated to her old room. She saw the coming of William in no different light.

Entering, she found it empty of all her possessions. Her chest remained, but what it had held, her meager clothing and her comb, were gone. She was afraid she knew where. She was even more afraid that Marie had turned against her as John had.

She hurried into William's chamber, certain that he was not in it, as she had observed him leave the hall after a serious discussion with Rowland. During that talk William's eyes had strayed again and again to her, their silver intensity piercing her even at that distance. Not that she had looked. It was with profound surprise that she found his chamber inhabited—by Ulrich and Marie.

"Is it that someone else has claimed you for his own, Marie? Is that why you will not encourage me?"

Marie said nothing, but she did not cower. In fact, she smiled and hid part of her face with a pretty bit of cloth, moving away just a step.

"He must have told you that your eyes are beautiful," Ulrich gushed, "but did he tell you that they are color of the sky over Damascus, as blue and unending as the cap of heaven? Did he tell you that they shine as sapphires worn in the crown of a king, and that the most beautiful of women, Queen Eleanor, would give up her throne to have eyes such as yours?"

Cathryn waited for Marie to run or at least deny her involvement with another. She waited in vain, for Marie denied nothing.

"Nay," she said, smiling behind her cloth, "he did not tell me that."

"Then he must be a churl and unworthy of you, Marie. You must scorn him and take me as your love," Ulrich declared.

"Must I?" Marie giggled and moved another step, watching carefully as Ulrich followed her yet again.

"Yea, you must, or I shall battle him for your favor, and God shall decide who should win your regard."

"It may be that God will decide in the end, but I would decide at the start," Marie flirted. She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely.

Ulrich darted in front of her, allowing Marie no further movement away from him. She stopped prettily and with no sign of alarm.

"Then decide, but be forewarned that I will accept no answer but that you will have me, and if the wooing takes a hundred years, then I am ready," Ulrich stated with characteristic drama.